


At Their Hands

by hellscabanaboy



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Dom/sub, Dream Sex, F/M, M/M, Multi, Objectification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellscabanaboy/pseuds/hellscabanaboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She turns to him, glances down to where he’s kneeling by the side of the manicured path into the grove, and when her eyes hit him that’s when Hak knows this is a dream, because only in a dream would the princess look at him with such focus - with such care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Their Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Letterblade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade/gifts).



Hak has never liked the palace gardens. They’re too perfectly groomed, like a picture from a silly storybook for kids. He doesn’t see the point of all that effort, even if it is the king’s own home. Besides, no matter how many gardeners slave over meticulously cultured exotic greenery, Hak can hardly even notice the surroundings. Wherever he is, his eyes are always on the princess.

Yona sits on a carved stone bench among dangling wisteria branches, delicate slippers just barely brushing the grass by her feet. She reaches up idly to twirl her hair, cropped short around her ears, and its golden ornaments tinkle with the movement. She turns to him, glances down to where he’s kneeling by the side of the manicured path into the grove, and when her eyes hit him that’s when Hak knows this is a dream, because only in a dream would the princess look at him with such focus - with such care.

“Hak,” she says, “come here a moment.”

He starts to get to his feet, finds himself fixed to the ground. Doesn’t know why until he hears her sigh.

“Not like that,” she says, waves at the ground beneath her. “Come here.”

He gets up to one knee, shuffles forward until he’s staring at the tiny embroidered stitches on her slippers. The grass will stain his pants, and he’ll have to find another pair suitable for the palace. She ought to have said that was what she wanted, if she meant it. She’ll never manage as a queen giving vague commands like come here. He draws a breath to tell her.

“Your highness,” he says instead, as he raises his head to look at her. 

Her face is split in a radiant grin, and Hak blinks light from his eyes as the sun filters through the branches above her. He could never be the cause of such splendor. It’s almost inconceivable that he should even be here to witness it.

“Don’t make faces,” he blurts out. “It makes you look wrinkled.”

He cringes just hearing himself, braces for her to return the taunt, but she only shakes her head. “Shhhh,” she says, and takes his head in her hands, and when he feels the warm points of her fingertips under his jaw, and he realizes his mouth is sealed as though she had the strength of ten men in her touch. Her thumb brushes across his lips, almost absently except by the way her eyes seem to dance, as though she knows that it’s the hardest trial Hak has ever known that he can’t part his lips to take her into his mouth. A secret that he could never have hoped to share - still less could hope to hide.

She leans in, presses a kiss to the top of his head. He feels the heat of her body close against his side, and then she’s kneeling down to straddle his hips, wide skirts spreading over his lap to smother him in a cascade of silk. Even through the layers, he’s sure she must be able to feel the press of his desire. Her fingers are still splayed on his face, gliding back to cup the nape of his neck. He can’t look away from her eyes.

“Hak,” she says, her smile brilliant as the sun overhead. “I’m engaged.”

Before he can react her warmth is gone, replaced by dazzling midday heat and the noise of celebration from all sides. He’s wrapped in smothering robes of state, useless and confining for a bodyguard, and the crowd seems a living thing around him. But for once he’s one of them, and all their heads are turned to the same place, to the dais where the princess and her groom stand with hands entwined.

He knows how Yona’s hand must feel in Soo-won’s, hot and urgent with tiny nails digging in - from when she used to drag him round the palace as a silly little girl, of course, in search of indulgent courtiers who might give her a sweet or hoist her to their shoulders for a ride. And he knows how Soo-won’s must feel wrapped around hers, if only from years of dueling. It’s not important. He is here to watch, to witness the two of their union in whatever way he can. That’s enough - that’s everything, all Hak could ever hope for.

The sun glints from Soo-won’s crown, and for a jarring moment Hak’s fingers itch for his spear. King Il still stands behind them, beaming from somewhere at the fringes of their splendor. Still the crown sits on Soo-won’s head as though it has been there always, and when Hak looks up again he can hardly remember that he had ever felt upset.

They lean in, their lips meeting in a kiss almost obscured by the brilliance all around them. Hak feels a grin spread across his face. It probably looks stupid but he doesn’t care, just gazes up at them until his eyes water and he’s blinking it away from his vision.

When they finally part they turn out towards the crowd, and all at once their gazes seem to fall on Hak alone. He tries to glance away, but he still feels the weight of their eyes, and the crowd parts around him, drawing him ever forward til he stands before him. His feet are heavy on the steps of their dais, and nothing has ever been more of a relief than to fall to his knees before them, bow his head low until his hair brushes the hems of their robes.

When he finally raises his head a hand falls in his hair, he’s not sure which, and slowly he lets himself look up at them. They’re smiling down at him, only for him among all the gathered subjects, pride and anticipation mingled in their faces, and he basks in it, unashamed.

And then the noise of the crowd is gone, and his vision is shrouded in cloth of gold fabric. The fabric of Soo-won’s robe, now open and draped casually around him, and he pets Hak’s shoulder offhandedly as Hak wraps his lips around the head of Soo-won’s erection, takes him down quick and deep as he can. Drinks in the taste of him, and revels in the tiny shudder he feels run through him at the sensation.

“He’s very good,” says Soo-won, to Hak’s annoyance sounding barely winded. “I suppose it’s to be expected, from our famous Thunder Beast.”

He makes as if to scoff, but with his mouth full all that comes out is a choked-off moan, almost pitiful even in his own ears. Hearing it sends another little jolt running through him, anger and frustration all wrapped up in such precious softness that they run off harmlessly into the ground that digs into his knees. Soo-won could at least have given him a pillow. It would have occurred to him, if he’d wanted to.

The tinkling of Yona’s laugh sounds above his head, her fingers in his hair gentling him as though he were a wild horse she had tamed. Barely any pressure at all, just stroking the nape of his neck with short smooth nails, but Hak can’t help stretching his head at their cue to take Soo-won in further, swallowing harshly as he hits the back of his throat. Soo-won does moan, then, and Yona lets out a faint sound simply at the sight, and it all drives him further onwards, pressing closer to Soo-won as he struggles to take him deeper.

They kiss, above him. Hak hears Yona’s faint sigh, feels the shiver run through Soo-won’s body as the sound is cut off. He wants to see, wants to be with them - unthinkingly tries to raise his head, but Yona’s thighs press up against his back from the outside, Soo-won’s hand on his jaw, guiding him to lay his forehead against his hip, no room to move between them. The thick silk of Soo-won’s robes has fallen in a curtain around him, cutting off all the rest of the world with glinting gold at the corners of his vision. Nothing else exists but their soft sweet touches, held up by the aching of Hak’s throat and the tearing of his breath, and it’s not _fair_ , it shouldn’t be, this is what he’s here for. To be used as they see fit, and let them come together around him.

“Please,” Yona says, breathy between kisses. “Soo-won, _please_.” She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for, Hak would say if his mouth were free. Or he would, if he wouldn’t first be begging the same thing.

He feels something soft drape across his back. One of Yona’s silken outer robes, it must be, and Hak can barely even stand the thought of her drawing it away from her body, not while he listens to her soft sighs filter down around him. “But of course,” Soo-won says, breathy himself this time - and that Hak can be proud of, that at least - and then his hand is replacing Yona’s at the nape of his neck, drawing his head away. He protests instinctively, reaches out with lips and tongue for one last taste, and then he’s sucking in air in large desperate gasps and Soo-won is laughing above him, stroking his hair softly as he moves him away.

The light stings his eyes as Soo-won releases him from the curtain of his robes. Tilts his head up, hand firm at the back of his neck, and Yona is reclining on the pillows above him, letting her legs fall open to part the thin silk of her underrobe. Hak drinks in every second of looking at her, finds he’s trembling against Soo-won’s leg. When she sees it Yona grins down at him, for just a second, and then she glances back up at Soo-won, and lets her head fall against the pillows, and everything is in its place.

“I want you, Soo-won,” she says as he guides Hak between her legs, and for just a second he sees their bodies come together, Yona reaching up to envelop Soo-won in her arms. Then Soo-won tugs sharply on his hair, pulls him into place, and even his groan of arousal is smothered in the heat of Yona’s thighs.

She gasps around him, and Hak delves furiously with his tongue, the taste of her hot on his lips. The hand in his hair tightens, holds his head in place like iron. “Take your time,” says Soo-won, voice back to its infuriating languor. “You want Princess Yona to enjoy herself, don’t you?”

There’s no way he can even answer, only whine in acknowledgement against Yona’s sex, but she gasps at the feeling of his voice against her and he sets to work, steadily, tries to ignore the pressure building within him. If only he could see them, just for a moment, one glimpse of Yona’s face as she writhes in Soo-won’s arms. But as soon as his eyes strain upwards he’s tugged back into place, hears Soo-won’s short indulgent laugh as he steadies himself on his knees, and if that sends another spike of arousal stabbing through him it’s not important, it can’t be, not with the princess above him and her pleasure his charge.

Yona’s gasps turn into muffled shrieks, tiny cries of praise cut off partway through. For Soo-won, more than for him, he’s only the instrument, here to provide what they need and leave the rest to them. To keep doggedly at his rhythm as she kicks her legs, traps his head between the vise of her thighs. He ought to have known she’d make this difficult, she does with everything else, but Soo-won’s hand is as demanding in his hair as her sex is against his lips and there’s nothing else, even his labored breath forgotten.

“Go ahead,” Soo-won says quietly. “Finish it.” And Yona cries out as he finally lets himself surge forward, seeking the taste of her with all the devotion he has. Her legs wrap around him, clasped firm around his head, and he licks gently now, never pauses as she trembles around him.

When he raises his head her cries have quieted, and instead he’s kneeling astride her atop the cushions. His clothes have been discarded, though she’s still draped in her filmy underrobe, and he trembles when he feels her gaze sweep up and down his body but there’s no way for him to look away.

Behind him Soo-won’s hand draws slow circles on his thigh, strokes upward to brush against his ass. He nearly chokes, trying to keep himself quiet, but he spreads his legs almost automatically, gives Soo-won access. Knows he’ll take full advantage of it, and he can’t even _think_ about that, but he doesn’t have to, only has to shiver under his hand and wait for what comes next.

“Hak,” Yona murmurs, reaching up to put her arms around his shoulders. “ _Relax._ It’s all right.” She draws him down on top of him, lips lingering around his throat, his jaw. Each time he thinks she might kiss him his eyes squeeze shut, and her lips flutter just away from his. He can’t decide if it’s cruelty or mercy. “You’re in good hands. Don’t you think?”

At that moment Soo-won’s fingers slide inside him, and his answer is drowned in a strangled cry. He’s not slow, just on the edge of too harsh - Hak doesn’t think he could have stood it otherwise. Still Soo-won is careful, readies him as though preparing a favorite horse for the hunt, and Yona’s lips brush against his forehead when his head dips down. “Well?” she demands again.

“Yeah,” he says in a perfectly undignified rush. “Yeah, you’ve got me, you have— _everything_ , princess, _please_.”

She glances over his head at Soo-won, smiles conspiratorially. “You think?” Soo-won asks, but even before Yona’s nod he feels the fingers slip away, replaced by Soo-won’s length pressing slowly inside him. It’s too much, or almost, too soon and too harsh despite Soo-won’s gentle hold on his hips - it’s _perfect_ , as demanding a use as he deserves. As _they_ deserve, and he wants to speak, wants to tell them so but his voice isn’t needed, not until they ask it.

“Well?” Soo-won says into his ear, hair brushing softly across his shoulders. “Yona’s waiting for you. Don’t you think she deserves your attention?” And he guides Hak’s hips downwards, even as he thrusts, and Yona spreads her legs and wraps them round his own and he’s drawn down into her, nearly sobbing as the heat of her body closes in around him. He’s trapped between the two of them, not so much thrusting as being driven between their bodies, a tool for each of their enjoyment. He’s never wanted anything more.

“Please,” he mutters again, almost too low to be heard, but he can’t contain himself anymore, he’s begging, sobbing into the bright fine nest of Yona’s hair, hardly even conscious of what he’s doing. “Please, I just, I need— Yona, your highness, please, _please_.”

He feels her laughter more than he hears it, lifts his head at the feel of her hand stroking the hair from his forehead. “A little longer, I think,” Soo-won says above him. “You don’t want to finish while Yona still needs you.”

No, no he doesn’t. He couldn’t. And Yona’s lips alight on his forehead again, his cheek, a kiss bestowed for every moment he suffers, and she whispers to him in the spaces between. “You can do it, Hak,” she says. “I know you will.”

And Soo-won is reaching down between their bodies, brushing momentarily against Hak as he seeks Yona’s pleasure. His other hand rests light as silk at Hak’s throat, and the words break from him like a dam about to burst. “Thank you,” he says, “ _thank you_ your highness—” And then his voice fails again and he’s simply wailing, desperately holding on as Soo-won drives him forward ever harder and Yona twists beneath him.

By the time Yona cries her pleasure once more he’s nearly collapsed on top of her, his whole body alight with the effort of holding himself back as she convulses around him. But finally she reaches up, runs her fingers through the mess of his hair. “Now, Hak,” she says, as simple as if she’d been demanding he fetch her her hairbrush, and utterly inviolable.

“Let her see you,” Soo-won adds, soft by his ear. “Go on.” He punctuates his words with long slow thrusts, rocking him deep into Yona’s body, but Hak is already finishing, lost from the moment she had spoken. “Yona,” he murmurs into her hair, drawn-out and hoarse as his body gives way beneath him, and then, finally, “Soo-won—”

And then he’s still quivering with the last of his pleasure, but Yona’s softness is gone from beneath him, and darkness rushes in to take her place. Soo-won is still there, no longer inside him but holding him steadily in place. He turns his head, slowly, until he sees something glint at his side, and then all of a sudden Soo-won is pressing the hilt of a sword into his hand, closing his fingers gently around it.

“Go on,” he says once more, soft voice unchanged. “My right hand.”

No, Hak tries to say, not in this. But once again his voice won’t come. He takes a step forward.

And wakes up, drenched in sweat and twisted in his blanket. Lies there panting, stomach heaving as the mess in his pants cools, until he manages to turn his head to see Yona lying next to him, face smooth in dreamless sleep.

He throbs still where he remembers being inside her. Turns aside, and shuts his eyes tight. He can’t bring himself to look at her.


End file.
